


What Remains

by geckocest (Pye)



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pye/pseuds/geckocest
Summary: Richie wants, Seth gives.





	What Remains

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to preface this by saying that there's a lot of fucked up psychology going on in this fic and I do not ever in a million years condone anything like this happening irl. 
> 
> This was very much inspired by the infamous scene with the rubber man from AHS. Also because I'm mad obsessed with that stupid mask Richie wore in the last couple episodes of s3.

\--

 

Richie's always sort of amazed by how much Seth has changed over the years.

 

Not only in the way he walks and talks, having shed his softer edges with the time in prison, but in the way he sleeps. He's more relaxed than he used to be, takes up the whole bed with his spider monkey limbs.

 

The most important part is that he sleeps heavy. He's no longer prone to jerking awake at every little noise, not like he used to when Dad was alive and he would sleep tucked into a little Seth-ball on his mattress, at the furthest corner from the door.

 

Richie can’t explain why this started. He can't even really explain why he wants it. There's just been something about Seth since they've been back together at Jed's, an air about him, this _sweetness_ hiding just underneath his regular ordinary human scent.

 

It plays to the basest, most animalistic part of Richie's brain, draws him in and makes him _need_ with an intensity that even scares him a little. It had never been like that with Kisa; not even in his most blood-frenzied, sex desperate moments had he felt anything like the hunger he's grown to feel for Seth.

 

Richie doesn't just want Seth's blood. He wants his body too, everything, all of it, wants to see his big brother bent to his will, submissive and obedient. He wants to watch Seth tilt his head to the side and offer his neck, looking up at him with dark, lustful eyes.

 

He spent a lot of time resisting these urges, pretending his fangs didn't pop and his dick didn't twitch every time he saw Seth. And he was doing okay, or as well as could be expected - at least until they ended up at that fucking prison.

 

Richie couldn't stand it, Kisa getting what Richie so desperately desires, offered up freely to her. Denied to him with an incredulous look and a roll of Seth's eyes, as he'd tugged his sleeve back down over the delicate fang marks in his forearm.

 

As those two little wounds disappeared from view, Richie had realized that everything he wanted was never going to be freely _given_ to him.

 

Seth was never going to roll over and submit. He may be a bleeding heart, prone to caring too much and thinking too little, but he's got a line same as everyone else, and taking it up the ass from his brother is no doubt on the wrong side of it.

 

So Richie'd sat, and stewed, and stewed some more, until the day he'd found the mask in a storage room at Jed's.

 

He'd plucked it from its hiding spot and put it on later in his room, watching his reflection in the mirror - the mask was dull silvery grey, skeletal and bony. Wearing it he looked almost cartoonish, like a comic book villain, hulking and out of place against the concrete walls.

 

With it on, Richie felt like he could do _anything_. Like the rules and regulations and societal expectations he's clung to were meaningless, shed like snakeskin as soon as the mask slid over his face. It turned him into the boy who killed his own father and didn't regret it, the man who cut out a woman's eyes after he promised he wouldn't. The man who would do anything to get what he wants.

 

When he'd gone to Seth that night he pinned him on his stomach, sight darkened by the black mesh over the eyeholes of the mask. Seth fought him tooth and nail at first, spitting and clawing and swearing, rabid animal fierce. He was no match for Richie's culebra strength, but Richie'd let him tire himself out a little before he finally quieted him with a hand covering his mouth and nose, cutting off his air so he had no choice but to give in or pass out.

 

He'd seen the recognition in Seth’s eyes, then, the betrayal behind his disbelieving stare. Maybe he figured it out from Richie's smell, or even the taste of his skin when he'd bit at Richie's palm.

 

But it doesn't matter that Seth knows.

 

Richie isn't himself, not with the mask snug over his face. He's someone else, someone with purpose, taking what he wants. Showing Seth his new rung on the food chain.

 

Seth had gone docile after that, dull-eyed and pliant. He accepted the prep without a word, gave it up so easy when Richie pushed into him, tilting his hips to get the angle right like his body knows just what to do.

 

God, but Seth was tight, insides clutching at Richie's cock, wet like a pussy but so much tighter, so much better because this was Seth underneath him, looking every bit the fantasy Richie'd played countless times in his head. Even through the bitter of adrenaline his blood smelled sweet as ever, pumping hot through his veins.

 

Richie'd already waited long enough, so _fucking_ long to get his teeth into Seth, so he was barely even seated inside him before he went for his neck, dipping down and lifting the mask just enough to leave his mouth free, as he let his fangs descend and sunk them into Seth.

 

He'd been delirious with how good it felt to finally give in to what he wanted, to taste that copper on his tongue, to hear Seth whimpering with every fevered suck at his neck, to feel Seth's hot body clenched tight around his dick.

 

When Richie was done he'd left Seth laying, blood smeared and covered in his own spunk, eyes glassy and distant. Richie was inordinately proud that Seth had creamed himself, moreso because he knew Seth wouldn't have wanted to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

 

But he had, and Seth had made the most delicious noise when he did, a strangled off moan. It made Richie hungry to know what he sounded like when he wasn't holding back.

 

And the next day, Seth hadn't mentioned a thing. Hadn't done a thing except flip his collar to cover the marks Richie left on him, which weren't quite hidden by the strands of his tattoo. Like nothing ever happened.

 

Now, Richie goes to Seth whenever the itch gets too strong. Always under the cover of darkness, and never without the mask. It's always dim in Seth's room at Jed's, even with the lamp on it's shitty and shadowed and dark enough that maybe Seth wouldn't be able to see him properly if he wasn't wearing the mask, but Richie's not sure he could do this without it either.

 

Right now he's kneeling at the end of Seth's double bed, watching Seth's chest rise and fall with every sleep-slow breath. All he has on is a thinning pair of boxers, half twisted around his legs.

 

Seth's always been so pretty, tanned skin and taut belly and nipples begging to be touched. He looks much the same as Richie remembers from those scant times he'd make the effort to look when they were younger, though Seth used to be much leaner than he is now, gone bulkier with muscle in the time they were apart.

 

He's even prettier naked, though, and Richie wastes no time hooking his fingers into Seth's waistband and tugging his boxers down his thighs. Tonight isn't a night where Richie has the patience for fucking around. Seth's been around the other culebras all day, including Kisa, and their scents linger faintly on his skin, too close for comfort.

 

Richie's desperate to taste him, to renew his claim, to feel that tight clutch of heat around his dick and know it's only him who gets to have this.

 

\--

 

As soon as Seth had heard the click of the door, he knew. It was one of _those_ nights.

 

He dreads these nights. At least, the rational side of him does, but that's also the side he's so often found himself having to shove to the wayside these days. Nights like this one may as well just be another tick on the tally of 'weird shit' Seth's had to put up with since Richie broke him out of prison.

 

But as much as he's tried, he can't just write this off and file it away in the _weird shit_ pile along with the Twister, or Kate being possessed by a psycho Hell demon, or Richie being turned into a motherfucking succubus. It's more than that.

 

It's not- what happens on these nights isn't anything like that ugly _r_ word. Seth allows this as much as he can allow something that's going to happen anyway, whether he wants it to or not.

 

In his head he still tries to deny it, but in his heart he's known from day one. He'd have to be stripped of all his senses to miss the fact that this is his brother - Richie keeps his face covered under that Halloween store horror show but he can't hide the precise, delicate movements of his hands, or the cadence of his breathing. Not even the faint smell of off brand soap, clinging to him underneath the unfamiliar aftershave he seems to throw on to keep Seth on his toes.

 

Even if his bed hadn't dipped under a new weight at the foot he would know Richie's here, just by the _presence_ he commands. Not to mention the sensation of keen eyes, with Richie's night vision probably being far stronger than Seth's own comparatively weak sight.

 

He's thought about going to sleep in piles of clothes, or leaving the curtains framing the little window open to surprise Richie with a moonlit room one of these days, but at this point it seems foolish to rock the boat. There's a balance here, unspoken between them. Richie needs, and Seth gives.

 

If this is what it takes to keep Richie happy and whole and here with him, well, there are worse prices to pay than this.

 

He fakes sleep at first, pretending the way he perfected in prison. He keeps his limbs floppy when Richie tugs his boxers down his thighs, off his legs. Richie's less careful with it than usual, and Seth hears them land with a soft whush of fabric somewhere to his left, in the direction of the laundry pile he's been cultivating for the better part of the last few weeks.

 

Tentative fingers trace over the taut of Seth's belly, down his abdomen, to the crease around his hip where his leg joins the rest of him. He resists sucking in a breath when the fingers brush his dick, barely there but enough to send a tingle up his spine.

 

And then his legs are pushed up, folded against his chest, and Seth's thankful it's so dark because he's probably incandescent with the flush on his face, his cheeks hot with shame.

 

The fingers are back again, slick with lube and prodding at his hole. Seth can't help the squirm when a finger pushes into him, manages to hold back a yelp when a second one joins it, far too soon. Richie seems impatient tonight; usually he's not so sloppy.

 

Richie realizes what he did though, because he keeps still after that, waiting until Seth's managed to relax himself a little before he crooks his fingers and _there it is_ , a whip crack of pleasure so good it's almost too much.

 

He can’t possibly pretend to sleep through this, so Seth gives up on the charade and pretends to shake himself awake. The first thing he sees is Richie's silhouette above him, the harsh features of the mask drenched in shadows and bathed red in the useless LED charge light on Seth's phone.

 

Richie rubs that spot again and Seth moans, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Richie seems to like the noise, because he repeats the motion until Seth is panting, fully hard and leaking precome onto his abdomen as if he hadn't been halfway there the second Richie stepped through the door.

 

"Just _do it_ already," Seth demands impatiently.

 

Richie scissors his fingers in defiance and leans over Seth, pressing him back into the mattress. Seth doesn't doubt that Richie'd make him come like this, with only his fingers, just to spite him for speaking out of line.

 

But then the fingers leave him and the buzz of a zipper breaks the quiet and Seth doesn't know whether the butterflies in his stomach are from the shame or the embarrassment or the anticipation or all three of them at once. He hears the tear of a condom packet, and the sound of the foil hitting the metal of the trashcan beside the bed.

 

There's a long moment where neither of them does anything. Richie just waits, watches, maybe expecting Seth to move, to try to get up and run, or put his legs down at least. He doesn't, despite the ever present burn of his cheeks at being spread out on display like a slut on prom night.

 

Eventually, Richie runs an approving hand up Seth's shin, squeezing his knee, and then shoves inside, all in one hard thrust.

 

A yell gets trapped in Seth's throat, muffled by a bitten tongue and hands fisted in the sheets. It hurts, despite the prep, but Richie probably wants it that way.

 

He'd never had anything up his ass before Richie started doing this (well, okay, there was that one time in the shower when he was sixteen, but a single clumsy finger is a whole lot different than a dick), and even after a whole two months of this he hasn't gotten over how weird this is, or how intimate it is. Or how _good_ it can feel, something he'd always privately assumed to be a myth.

 

Seth squirms at the stretch, trying to force himself to relax, absently obsessing over the way he can feel Richie's cock twitching inside him if he keeps still enough.

 

Eventually he rolls his hips and Richie takes that as his cue. He starts slow, like he always does, but today he picks up the pace quickly, palms braced on Seth's legs.

 

The room seems to fill with the sound of Seth's breathing, edged sharp with a whine every time Richie grazes that spot that makes Seth's eyes roll and his back arch up off the bed.

 

Seth lets go of the sheets to shove his hand into the space between their bodies, fumbling a few times before he gets a hand on his aching dick, slippery with precome and throbbing in time with the rabbit-quick beat of his heart.

 

He sweeps his thumb over the sloppy blunt head, gathers precome on his fingers and slicks up the shaft. He can only ever resist the temptation to jack himself off for so long, even though he resents the way it makes him feel like Richie's won.

 

Seth was just starting to get into it, _really_ get into it, feeling that telltale pressure starting to build up when Richie slows his hips. Seth groans in frustration, pleasure receding without the relentless slam of Richie's dick.

 

But this is Richie's show, not his, and a second later the hard plastic of the mask is scraping over the scruff of his beard as Richie curls over him. This has happened enough times for Seth to know what's coming, but the jolt of pain still manages to be a surprise when Richie's fangs dig into his flesh.

 

\--

 

The noise Seth makes when Richie sinks his teeth into him is fucking _intoxicating_. He always seems to like this part, or at least his body does - he whimpers high and reedy, clenching up like a vice around Richie's cock.

 

Usually Richie manages to keep himself quiet, but today he can't hold back the grunt when he fucks into that tight heat and feels Seth responding like an animal underneath him, writhing and hissing as Richie licks at the wounds with the flat of his tongue, deepening them until blood starts to run freely.

 

Seth tastes just as good as he always does. Thick, rich blood wells over Richie's tongue in a rush, tinted sweet like nothing else he's ever tasted. Richie feeds messily, like a starving man at a three course buffet. He makes sure not to take too much, just enough to take the edge off, not enough to make Seth woozy.

 

Seth groans, thrashing his head from side to side until Richie grabs his chin to hold him still, so he can't accidentally force Richie's fangs too deep, and nick something important.

 

"Fuck, come _on,_ " Seth pleads, fighting Richie's hand. "'M close."

 

That's new.

 

Seth's never begged before. In fact he rarely says anything at all, except the odd complaint when he gets impatient or Richie's too rough with him.

 

Richie eases his fangs out and slides the mask back over his face, rewarding Seth with a hard slam of his hips, grinding into him until Seth starts gasping and Richie knows he's found that _spot_ , the one that drives Seth crazy when he hits it right.

 

" _Yeah_." Seth's whine is frantic as his body flexes with the sultry arch of his back, the skin around his shoulder dripping with new blood, crimson strands twining with the ink of his tattoo. "Keep going, just-"

 

And then Richie breaks one of his own rules. He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't touch Seth anywhere he didn't have to to get this done, so he always leaves it up to Seth if he wants to get off.

 

But right now, Seth really seems like he wants it.

 

So Richie gets a gentle grip on Seth's dick and rubs his thumb over the head.

 

Seth's reaction to it is instantaneous. He moans and goes so tight it almost hurts, so tight Richie nearly loses it right there, barely able to keep it together.

 

" _Richie_ ," Seth pants, as he comes all over the flat of his stomach. "Richie _RichieRichie-"_

 

Richie lets go of him like he's just been burned as all the air seems to suck out of his lungs at once.

 

\--

 

Seth comes back to his senses around the same time that the gravity of what he's said hits him like a ton of bricks. He chokes on his next inhale, shuts his eyes and squeezes them tight, cringing into the sheets.

 

He doesn't even know why he said it, why the name came to him now when it hasn't all the other times before. He just got caught up in the moment, forgot where he was and the situation he was in.

 

And now he's taken their fragile balance and turned the whole thing upside down. What if he's freaked Richie out enough that he actually leaves again? That's a prospect that terrifies Seth far more than the possibility of spending countless nights braced for the sound of a lock clicking open.

 

The room has gone silent, save for a soft rustle from somewhere above him, and the dread starts to set into the pit of Seth's stomach, killing the endorphins from his post-orgasm high.

 

Any minute now Richie's going to get off him and go. Seth knows it, he can _feel_ it, that tension build up and pulling taut, ready to snap.

 

But then something taps his cheek, and Seth's eyes fly open in surprise.

 

It's not the mask above him, the hulking, shadowy figure Seth's come to expect.

 

It's Richie, just Richie, face inches away from his. Shocked expression in the red LED, looking down at Seth like he's just seen a ghost.

 

"Seth."

 

Richie speaks Seth's name like it's a prayer, like a mantra. His eyes are wide, expression gone teenage-shy, as if this is the first time he's ever had his dick inside anyone. For a second Seth forgets everything that brought them to this moment. Because _this_ is the brother he knows, who would never hurt him the way the figure behind the mask has.

 

 _"Seth,"_ Richie repeats, still not moving, voice breaking, panic jittering at the edges.

 

"It's okay," Seth says shakily, as much to himself as it is to Richie. "It's okay."

 

Seth hitches his hips up in invitation and Richie slides deeper and they both groan, Seth reaching up to touch Richie, running his fingers through thick hair as he draws him closer. Suddenly, every barrier between them feels like too much, from the t-shirt Richie's wearing to the jeans he never bothered to shuck.

 

"Take off your shirt," Seth whispers, nose centimetres from Richie's. The sharp metallic tang of blood hangs in the air around them. "And take off the condom too, wanna feel you."

 

Richie's exhale is heavy. He hesitates, but eventually eases out slow and straightens up on his knees.

 

Seth scrunches his face, both in slight discomfort and at the sudden empty feeling inside him. When he looks up at Richie he finds him watching the way he was earlier. Like Richie expects him to get up and run. Again, he doesn't.

 

Richie swallows audibly and tugs off the condom, tossing it in the trash. He pulls off his shirt too, bare chest pale in the dim light. Seth thinks about asking for the jeans to go too, but he doesn't want to push his luck. Richie looks skittish enough as it is.

 

Richie returns to his place with the sound of a protesting mattress. When Richie presses inside him again, painfully gentle, the skin to skin contact is nearly too much. Richie feels impossibly hot inside him, impossibly big once he's slid all the way in. No more latex between them. Nothing for either of them to hide behind anymore.

 

"Fuck," Richie says softly.

 

A feeling ripples through Seth at the sight of Richie looking so wrecked above him. It's a feeling of _power_ , of finally having the upper hand after so long.

 

"You ever done it without a condom, Richard?"

 

Richie shakes his head, and Seth can feel a hard jerk of Richie's dick inside him.

 

He gets his grip on Richie's hair again and uses it to tug him in, closing the gap between them. When Richie's lips slide against Seth's, Seth tastes blood, his _own_ blood, as he sucks on the tongue Richie shoves past his teeth.

 

Richie lets out a guttural moan and gets his hands on Seth's ass, doesn't even manage to pull out all the way once before he's frantically shoving in to the hilt and going still as wet heat fills Seth up.

 

Once he feels Richie's rigid frame start to relax again, Seth pulls his lips away from Richie's and smooths the scruff of hair at the back of Richie's neck that he mussed up. "That was good, wasn't it buddy? Made you feel real good," Seth croons, running his hand over Richie's bare back, along the ridges of his spine. Each one serving as a reminder that Richie was human once, flesh and blood and bone just the same as Seth.

 

Richie whimpers and presses his face into Seth's shoulder, shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, breathing hitched and uneven. When he raises his head again his mouth and chin are smeared dark with the blood that's still sluggishly oozing down the back of Seth's neck, and Seth goes to wipe some of it off with his thumb.

 

Richie allows it, full lips parting under Seth's touch.

 

"Were you gonna…" Seth trails off. _Stay_ , he means to say, but something in Richie's expression tells him he's already got his answer.

 

Seth draws his hand back and wipes the blood off on the sheets beside him. Because whatever, they already need a wash anyway.

 

Then Richie pulls out of him, slow like he's savoring it. He avoids Seth's eyes, but his gaze roves over the rest of him, shadows playing over high cheekbones in the dull light.

 

Seth watches Richie put himself back together and get off the bed. The springs complain, and Seth almost does too, at the indignity of being left here like this.

 

Richie lingers by the door, hand on the knob, looking at Seth with an expression that's both parts guilty and cowed, like a beaten dog.

 

 _'This is your mess,'_ Seth thinks, petulantly. He doesn't sit up, nor does he move. He just lays there, completing the picture, waiting for Richie to explain himself, say he's sorry, to do anything other than stand there in silence.

 

But Richie just turns and goes, shutting the door quietly behind him.

 

Seth's thought a lot about what he'd do if Richie ever stopped. Whether he would just stay quiet and live with the secret like a monkey on his back, the way Richie must have dealt with the weight of what he did to Dad all those years.

 

Or if he'd want it back, desperately, like he does now. If he'd go to Richie and beg for it, with the same junkie shakes he remembers from when he was craving a fix.

 

When Seth looks over, he finds the mask sitting there beside him.

 

This feels like an ending, maybe, or the start of something new. An evolution of their relationship, whatever fucked up, gnarled, twisted thing it's become.

 

Seth lays down and curls into a ball, not bothering to put his boxers back on or clean himself up. He just reaches out and touches the mask, like he might touch a lover, tracing the ridges of the hard plastic shell with his index finger. It's a shoddy replacement for the warm, living flesh he'd had pressed against him scant minutes ago.

 

Despite the fact that Seth should _hate_ Richie for what he's done. Despite the fact that a piece of him does. Seth wants Richie to come back and take care of him, like he used to take care of scraped knees and scraggly, too-long bangs. He wants to feel Richie cuddled up next to him, hear his breathing the way he used to be able to when they used to share a bedroom when Dad was alive.

 

Seth doesn't know what he's supposed to do when his safety net isn't safe anymore.

 

So he lays here, in this red-tinged nightmare, ass stinging, guts churning, jizz congealed on his belly. Alone with the darkest side of his brother, perched on the pillow, staring back at him with black, empty sockets.

 


End file.
